YOLO - Unless You're A Winchester Or A Friend Of One
by Supernatural Fangirl English
Summary: Set in the before the Season Finale of Season 1 but with much later elements. Sam and Dean are in England, dealing with a demon outbreak when they meet Alice, Tom and Joe, three ordinary human beings. Apart from maybe one or two of them aren't. Factor in Castiel, Anna, Crowley, Ruby, Jo Harvelle? Got more in my book but haven't typed it up yet, will do soon.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**

**So this story is set in England around 2015, 2016. Sam and Dean are about halfway through the Season 1 timeline before we mess it all up a bit. Technically AU, if there's something that is proven to be incorrect because of Season Nine, please ignore it because I haven't got that far yet. This first Chapter is a little rushed because I didn't want to linger, please enjoy, rate and review.**

Alice Black

I'm standing in the drama room and no-one is alive. Corpses litter the floor and blood soaks it in a sticky red sea. One of the bodies on the floor shivers a little, and two boys, coated in blood, stagger out from under it, where they have evidently been hiding from something. I know both of them, Tom and Joe. Tom in love with me and Joe in love with Tom, a messed up love triangle that is screwed because of the ignorance of both of them. I can also begin to recognise some of the people that lie dead on the floor as well, Katherine, Noa, Georgina and Stephen. I bite back the tears that are threatening to rise and gladly accept a hug from Tom, Joe watching uncomfortably.

The outer door crashes open and the three of us dive behind one of the black curtains, just in time to get out of sight of the two men that enter the room. I am relieved, pretty sure that the two of them aren't capable of killing anyone but let out a quiet gasp when I see what Tom has been frantically gesturing at. They are both holding long, wickedly sharp knives and the taller of the two (slightly less handsome if I do say so myself) has a gun.

Noticing the attractiveness of them leads me to take a quick glance at Joe, who, as suspected, is practically drooling. He catches my raised eyebrow and sticks out his tongue. Then, to my complete and utter horror, he does something incredibly stupid and suicidally insane.

He steps out and raises his hands in the air.

The taller man draws his gun and points it at Joe but he doesn't even flinch. Instead he withdraws a tiny packet of salt from his pocket and pours it into his mouth, grimacing at the taste. Then he cuts a short gash in his arm with a knife that he pulls from his shoe and shows the wound to the two men.

'See? I'm human-ish.'

_Well what the fuck else could you be?_

'Hunter?' asks the hotter one.

'Sort of. I'm a Nephilim, but you won't know what that is yet. But I know the two of you. Sam and Dean Winchester,' he gestures at each one in turn, 'the best Hunters of this generation. What are you doing across the pond?'

'In case you hadn't noticed, there's been a frigging demon population explosion.' Snaps Dean, 'We just wanna sort the suckers out.'

'Alice!' Joe calls, suddenly, 'Tom! You guys can come out now!'

As we do this, he whispers to the Winchesters, 'They know nothing about this… stuff, so ease them into it.'

As I step out into the centre of the room, I feel Dean's eyes on me, roving up and down my body, evidently liking what he sees. I don't blame him. At nineteen years I am tall, slim and have the figure of Aphrodite. Sam is looking at Joe in an appreciative way but he hasn't noticed, Tom has, though. How can he be so perceptive to some crushes and completely blind to his own?

'Who're they?' Dean is instantly suspicious, Sam rolling his eyes as if his trigger-happy brother is a common occurrence, and glances again at Joe's butt.

'Relax. They're just classmates of mine. I obviously moved around a lot at first but when I came here I… found a reason not to.' Joe blushes and looks through his fringe at Sam, who looks to be the more perceptive of the two. Sam instantly catches on, and glances, first at me, taking in my imperceptible shake of the head and then stares at Tom for a second, who has noticed none of this silent exchange.

'Uh huh?' Dean sounds unconvinced. 'Do you know what happened?'

'Archangel Raphael.' Joe replies.

'Angels aren't real.' Sam speaks for the first time, his voice low.

Joe rolls his eyes like he's been expecting this and snaps his fingers. The shadow of two massive wings are cast across the wall behind him, each the size of a tent, by a flashing light that shakes the walls as if he has summoned thunder and lightning into the very room.

'Shit.' I say.

Sam is gobsmacked, but Dean, who is still staring at me, bursts into guffaws at my expression. I am strangely gratified. When he's finished laughing, Dean addresses Joe, a little more curiously now.

'So why'd you stay here? It don't look like much of a town.'

Sam looks despairingly at his brother but Joe, doesn't flinch or blush for once and looks back at Dean with a strange glint in his eye. I remember the discussion we had last week about how he was sick of lying to Tom about his feelings and can sense what's about to happen. It's going to be like watching a car crash in slow motion.

'I fell in love.' Dean raises his eyebrows in shock and his eyes, like Sam's, slide toward me, a spark of… _jealousy (?!)_ in them. 'With a guy,' Dean relaxes and Sam looks hopefully at Joe.

'Whoa!' Tom is amazed and the brothers pause to allow us the domestic gossip, 'Who?'

Surely he's not going to answer this as well? But I see his mouth open and brace myself for the worst.

'Well…' I've never heard him stutter before or even act nervous, so this is weird, 'It's… e-er… you.' He turns from this scene of destruction, Tom gulping like a fish out of water in shock and re-addresses the Winchesters. 'We need to get out of here, I can take us somewhere safe but I can't actually physically take us anywhere. You've got a car, right?'

Dean huffs, angrily, 'Firstly, _she _is not just a car; she is a beautiful machine flawless in every way. Second, why should I let you anywhere _near_ my baby?'

Joe is about to reply when a fierce light builds outside, and the form of a tall, dark-skinned man stands outside. 'Run!' Joe screams above the groaning of the walls and the high-pitched whine that I can't identify. 'I'll hold him off; this guy is _way_ out of your league, guys! Run!'

We sprint through the inner door and then the outer, not looking behind us for fear of what we might see. Quickly we reach a black, shiny car that I recognise to be a 1960s Chevy Impala.

_Okay, maybe I get why you are in love with your car. It is hot._

We climb inside just in time for Joe to materialise in the seat beside me. Blood dribbles out of the corner of his mouth and the whole left side of his face is swollen up, and there are many slashes in his clothes, revealing wounds that look like they've been there for years, more scars than wounds now, I guess.

'Drive to this address,' he mutters, before promptly reciting it and collapsing across my lap, breathing 'Wake me when you get there,' as his eyelids slam shut.

Now that he's safely asleep, Tom turns to me with a look in his eye that I recognise from the two months we dated: suspicion. 'Did you know?'

I sigh, 'Yes.'

'And you didn't tell me?'

'He's in _love_ with you for God's sake! I'm not going to rat him out.'

'Has he been watching me when I change?' Tom asks.

I have to raise my voice over the disgusted groan from Dean to reply, 'No, he avoided you in in the changing rooms, remember?'

'I always wondered why he did that.' Tom muses to himself.

We use my iPhone to get us there, which takes approximately ten minutes. When we arrive, all I can see is an ordinary house in a row, semi-detached, and a nice size but poorly maintained, cracks climbing the walls like ivy and damp staining the paint. I gently shake Joe to wake him. I moved his head onto Tom's lap as we drove (I'm such a good friend) and I can see by the blush that creeps up his cheeks that he's noticed, even before his eyes are open. I can also tell by the fact it takes several minutes to "wake" him up and get him off of Tom's lap.

Joe leads us to the door and produces a tiny silver key. Rather than inserting it into the door, he presses it to the wooden panel, just above the knocker and waits for something to happen. Thankfully, the door doesn't groan open on rusting hinges, but glides forward, eerily silent. We duck into the dark interior and Joe shuts the door behind us. There is an instant, where the only sound I can hear is the clicking of the lock as it turns back into place.

As they do so, lights spring on and I see that we are in a cosy, neat lounge that leads into a large dining room with a table set for six. It's much bigger than the house looked from outside, which I'm just going to assume is magic. There; I said it. The walls are painted light green with black designs etched onto them. Some I recognise, like the classic pentagram, but others are completely foreign.

'What the hell is that?' Dean asks, pointing to one of these designs.

'Angel warding, they can't get in. Nephilim like me can but it's difficult, and we can't use our powers in here or teleport in or out. The safety is worth the lack of magic.'

'So why are we here? Why aren't we hunting down that son of a bitch, Raphael?' Dean is pissed but it's kinda hot.

Joe tells us how Raphael is pretty damn hard to kill and the only thing we can do is run. I'm not paying attention, just watching Sam watch Joe. When I first met Joe he was a small, spotty (albeit very muscular) 12-year-old so I've never really looked at him in an appreciative way. Another possible reason could be that I've known he's gay since we were fourteen. He has a strong, straight jawline, and smooth skin, dyed brown from all of the months he spends outside working on the school-fields. Snugly clinging to his body, the T-shirt emphasises his fitness, with the rips and tears giving tantalising glimpses of what's underneath. His eyes shine light brown, with a ring of green glowing softly at the edge of the iris, flecks of golden slashing through the brown inner section, all slightly shadowed by his long lashes. Dark hair tumbles over his forehead in thick locks, the last inch of which lighten to a caramel blonde. I can see what Sam is so interested in, and am contemplating Joe's ass, when Joe says my name.

'…she's been damaged internally by a spell that will slowly kill her unless I can get rid of it.'

'Well when are you gonna get rid of it?' shout Dean and Tom at the same time, glaring furiously at each other as if they've finally realised they are fighting over me.

'I need to recover from holding off Raphael, so tomorrow.' He says placating them, smiling conspiratorially at Sam, who, I notice, practically trembles with longing.

'Fine, then.' Tom says, before Dean can get in a word, 'But no later.'


	2. Chapter 2

Joe Cooperstown

Alice stands in the car-park, staring down at her feet, nervously, also checking the many signs and symbols that I have drawn on the concrete. Dean is describing how the spell works; although he is understandably unsure seeing as I only explained it to him this morning. He surreptitiously glances up and down at her body, taking in the curves that are highlighted by the carefully selected snug clothes she's wearing.

I can tell why he's looking at her like that; I might be a gay half-angel but I know what attractive girl looks like and Alice is definitely that. Brown hair curls in ringlets from her head, brushing past her lightly tanned skin, natural honey-coloured highlights shimmering like gossamer threads caught in a sunbeam. They frame a petite face with a small, thin, sculpted nose. Long, thick eyelashes curl over deep blue eyes that glow mysteriously in the fading light of the setting sun, offset by a random chip of gold that is embedded just above her pupil. Her figure is slim and compact with subtly shaped curves that draw the eye to them without you noticing it at all.

Sam and Tom come to stand beside me, comically mismatched; one well over six feet and the other barely reaching five. Tom's face is soft golden, with a smattering of silver freckles across his cheeks and nose, a tiny nose that swells a little bit into an endearing nub. His body, although short is incredibly muscled from his climbing and the desire to be picked up by those strong arms is almost overwhelming. Eyes that are dark slate, dotted with starry pinpricks of different hues, a certain one more noticeable in each different light, are almost covered by the messy mop of hair that sits atop his head. It sticks out in random places, light brown and blonde, the colour of toffee.

'Are you sure that Alice is going to be alright?' Tom asks. These are the first words he has addressed to me since I told him I was in love with him and I am both thrilled and mollified that the words are, of course, about his one true love.

'I promise,' I reply, gripping his shoulder and forcing him to look at me, 'I'm going to put everything I have into this spell.'

He grunts uncomfortably and squirms out of my grip. Sam however surprises me and, while Tom is intently watching Alice and Dean, who are having a deep conversation, takes my face in both hands and kisses me on the mouth.

My head spins as his lips mash into mine, his tongue expertly working its way into my mouth. He tastes of sweat and booze but I'm not complaining, savouring the beautiful feel of his gentle hands that work up my back underneath my shirt, attempting to pull it over my head-

'-Stop.' I breathe, breaking away, 'I would, but I have a spell to perform and you know how I feel about him.' I nod at Tom's unknowing back.

'You can't deny that was good.' Sam murmurs back, fingers still tracing circles across my skin, leaving lines of goose bumps behind them, 'And you enjoyed it… a lot.'

'Fair point.' I admit.

'So we should continue after the spell…?' he lets the request hang in the air.

'Sam Winchester,' I whisper, 'You may just get me over that boy, yet.'

We break apart, bumping each other's shoulders (platonically!) and exchanging secretive smiles (less platonically) as we walk toward where the others stand.

Alice is in the middle of a small chalk circle with an elaborate design of runes curling around the outside of it. Dean has just finishes placing the fourth white candle at the final cardinal point and hands another one to Alice, evidently taking care to let their fingers brush. From the rising blush in her cheeks, I can see Alice has noticed too. Tom stands tall and straight, hands thrust deep into his pockets, scowling ferociously at the gravel, occasionally kicking it, when the urge takes him.

'Whatever happens,' I begin, 'Don't interfere. The situation would only be made worse if any of you decide to interrupt the incantation so don't get any ideas about heroics. That's you Tom… you too Dean.'

Dean snorts whilst Tom blushes, but they both step back away from the candles and runes, ready for me to do my stuff.

My magic is not the same as full angels. I am more powerful than an angel but less than an archangel and my power is more slippery, harder to control at times, but nearly twenty years of practice has given me near perfect control of it. I reach into the magic of my soul and withdraw the necessary power, letting it spill around me in a barely visible spool of energy.

_'Ignis,'_ I intone, watching each candle blaze to live before my eyes.

I have a brief respite, not having recovered completely from yesterday's ordeal, before delving into the proper magic. There are no set words for the incantation I am doing, so I make my own, not using Latin, Greek or even Enochian.

_'Alheya gela fe onomi!' _The words leave me in a scream, tearing through my throat, leaving it raw and red, and a continuous, glowing stream if pure white light leaves my chest and rushes toward Alice's lifting her into the air and filling her with fire.

Her veins twist with it, and the light of each tiny flame shines strongly through her skin, illuminating her like a Halloween pumpkin. Streamers of flames shoot from her eyes which have turned amber-gold, casting sparks into the air that drift to the floor, fading as they fall.

As the last of the stream of light leaves my chest, my eyesight clouds and fades, my body dropping to its knees. The light is my soul and without it, my body is just an empty husk of nothingness.

_Heal_

I think desperately, as my face smacks into the hard concrete and I slip away.

_ I am chained in a room, to a slab with a man leaning over me, threatening to do hell knows what. He pauses and I see that he is holding a shard pin of silver, poised just above my right eye._

_ 'Tell me where the Winchesters and that little girl are.' He orders._

_ All I can do is spit a gob of blood and mucus into his sneering face and shut my eyes, waiting for the inevitable pain. It comes. And I…_

_ …scream. _

_ They bring in Tom, bound in chains similar to mine hold a knife to his throat, making the barest cut, watching me yell and strain against my bonds with what little strength I have left._

_ 'Tell us where they are or he dies…' they enjoy the pain in my eyes, '…slowly.'_

_ As I hesitate, with brutal swiftness, one breaks the little finger in Tom's hand, listening dreamily to the sound of his agonised screaming. After a second it becomes too much to bear._

_ 'All right!' I relent, 'I'll tell you where they are hiding.'_

_ My vision goes black and words are cast across the blackness._

This will kill them all. Stop this by doing what you were too cowardly to do just now. Change your fate.

_As I read the words as voice repeats them to me until I am confused, dizzy and ill-feeling again, and my consciousness slowly fades…_


	3. Chapter 3

Tom Ramsden

Joe collapses onto the floor, his eyes fading dark and I am almost bowled over by the two figures that rush past me. Sam is trying to reach Joe's limp form, but Dean has tackled him to the floor, and holds his knee at Sam's gut, so that if he attempted to get up, it would only result in more pain.

'Let me _go_, Dean.' Hisses Sam, through clenched teeth, trying to squirm out of his brother's grasp.

'You heard what he said!' Dean roars back, 'Alice could die!'

'You only care about her because she's beautiful!' Sam screamed.

'And you're any different?' Dean's voice was suddenly quiet, soft, dangerous, 'I know you love him. Maybe I feel the same way about her.'

'Shut it!' I yell loudly, pointing at Alice's prone body above, 'Stop acting like fucking three-year-olds and pay attention.'

Skin bulges at the base of Alice's throat and her features screw up in a spasm of pain. The frozen image of her tortured, airborne form is shattered as she bends over, gagging and clawing at her throat, eyes wide and uncomprehending. As we watch a slip of darkness slides out of her gaping mouth and is caught in a net of bright, white light that follows it from her throat. Seemingly, the very touch of the glowing net is poisonous to the darkness which slowly dwindles into a speck of pure blackness before vanishing completely.

Disentangling itself from Alice's teeth, the pale light curves around and shoots into Joe's chest. His body shudders, taking in a deep rasping breath, before relaxing into the ground, his skin fading to a deathly pallor. Alice sinks to the floor, back inside her chalk circle, pale but clearly alive. Sam is suddenly able to run to Joe, and shake him violently, as Dean has sprinted to Alice's side and is cradling her in his strong arms. After a split-second's consideration, I follow Dean to Alice's limp body. Joe might be my best friend (left) and he might even be dead, but Alice will always come first, no matter how bad that might sound.

We stay beside her for a few minutes, praying that she'll wake up, that this isn't the end of Alice. Fluttering in a series of swift bats, her eyelids flick open, exposing her deep blue eyes to the sky and the sight of us, anxiously waiting for her to recover. She opens her mouth, about to say something and I prepare to look smugly over at Dean, knowing that my name is about to be framed by those beautiful lips…

'Joe…' she whispers, looking alarmed, 'Is he alright?'

Dean and I exchange a glance before she catches sight of Sam and slowly crawls over to him, ignoring our fussing, flailing hands and remaining completely focused on the task at hand. She collapses onto his chest, crying to herself, not giving us one of the best omens about the state of Joe.

'He died saving me!' she sobs, 'It's all my fault.'

Mechanically, Sam consoles her, his hands rubbing circles in her shoulders as if he's done this a thousand times before. Suddenly, without any hint of a warning, Joe takes a deep gasp of a breath in, and his eyes fly open. Within a millisecond of this occurrence, Sam ducks his head and starts passionately making out with him, clearly trying to undress him, judging by the sound of popping buttons.

As if he's suddenly recalled that the rest of us are still here, Sam reluctantly backs away and allows Alice to embrace Joe tightly. He seems to be in a better shape than after his battle with Raphael but who can be sure when he isn't human?

'Are you alright?' Sam asks, worried.

Joe cracks a weak smile, 'All the better for seeing you,' He winks at a blushing Sam, raising one eyebrow suggestively. It's good to see he's gotten over me… I think.

'What _was_ that?' I ask, staring at the candles and the chalk circle, the lines of which are smouldering slightly, as if the stone itself has caught fire.

'A way for Raphael to track us,' murmurs Joe, 'As well as anything else that wants to do us any harm.'

Briskly blowing in from the north, a frigid breeze ruffles my hair and carries the faint odorous smell of… rotten eggs?

Dean's head snaps around in the direction of the wind, his nostrils sniffing the air like a bloodhound. 'Sulphur. There are demons coming and at least one of them is one powerful son of a bitch.'

Joe stretches out his hands and lines of golden fire stretch between his fingers, like the supernatural version of a cat's cradle. When the wind hits again, only one of these strings vibrates. 'Asmodeus.' He whispers, 'Lieutenant of Hell.'

A small, thin girl walks through a gap in the houses, blonde hair blowing backwards in the wind. Her skin is a pale, creamy white and her high cheekbones stick out from her slightly gaunt face.

'Katherine?' I wonder aloud, 'How did you escape Raphael?'

I remember seeing her body on the floor, surrounded by a thin, sticky sheet of her own blood. Joe seems to remember this too, and is not looking at her with blind faith and happiness but guarded features and a wary eye. Alice, on the other hand, is sent into a fresh burst of tears of joy, jumping up and down and waving at her. She tries to run toward her, but Joe gently catches her by the shoulders and holds her back.

'It isn't her anymore.' He says, slowly, 'The Katherine that we know is dead.'

'How can you know that?!' screams Alice, 'For once in your life have a little optimism! Just because your life has been a stinking cesspit of despair, it doesn't mean mine has to be!'

Joe stiffens but his voice is no less kind than it was before, 'Look.' He steps forward so that Katherine can clearly hear him, '_Christo._'

Katherine flinches back and her pupils dilate until her eyes are completely covered by a film of black.

'Oh my god.' Alice whispers.

'Not really!' Grins the demon, Asmodeus, 'Try again, hon.'

Joe disappears for an instant and reappears, now holding a wooden-handled blade, etched with yet more confusing squiggles. He holds it out to Sam, murmuring, 'Demon-killing knife,' as he does so, before turning back to face Asmodeus. 'So, because you're inhabiting one of my best friends; a girl who _was_ like a sister to me, I'm going to go easy on you?' He sounds equal parts disgusted and incredulous, all doused in a coating of white-hot rage, of course.

'Well, aren't you?' she grins cheerfully.

'Katherine is dead, you sycophantic whore, you wearing her body as a flesh suit changes none of that.' He spits, 'I've seen her soul in Heaven! Killing you won't affect her in the slightest.' A silver blade, longer and thinner that the one he gave Sam, slides from his left sleeve and into his hand.

Asmodeus screams with pent-up fury and, at her apparent summons, an array of demons detach themselves from the shadows of the nearby building. They flock around her body, forming a protective barricade from us.

'So you think that you're able to kill me? Even if I were alone, you would be unable to make a scratch on me!' She grins fiercely, baring her teeth in a parody of a feral growl, 'You're a half-breed! A sterile mule!'

'I am _not_ sterile!' Joe whispers to Sam.

'I am the Lieutenant of Hell's Army!' yells Asmodeus.

'You're pronouncing that a bit off,' I say, feeling a seed of bravado expand in my chest, 'It's Loo-tenant, not Left-tenant.'

'It's Left-tenant.' Asmodeus states flatly. 'Have fun dying alone!'

'Oh, Asmodeus…' Joe laughs, and the sound sends a ripple of unease through the crowd of demons behind her, 'Who said anything about dying alone?' He looks up at the sky, casting his arms forward and yells, 'Cas? Clarice? Little help? And Anna? If you're around?'

The sound of fluttering wings fills the air, briefly bringing to mind images of flight and feathers. A small, red-headed girl appears first, beaming at Joe before her features set into a scowl as she sees the large group of demons behind Asmodeus. An instant later, a shorter, stubbled man, with glowing, aqua eyes and ruffled, black hair appear and grins at Joe, embracing him in a rough hug. An Asian girl with dark, flawless skin stands behind him, surveying the landscape around for danger, a large pair of hipster glasses perched on the end of her nose. I'm not sure why an angel _needs_ glasses, but…

'As you can see, I'm not alone.' Joe seems completely at ease with the demonic horde ahead of him. 'While they're dealing with each other, why don't we have a little one on one, Asmodeus?'

The three full angels explode into action, darting forward with knives like the one Joe holds. Sam follows with his demon-killing knife but Dean is content to stand in front of Alice, shielding her with his body, and fire rounds at as many demons as he possibly can. I have absolutely no idea what's going on and my experience with fighting is basically limited to violent video games. But I'm sure as hell not going to let Dean steal my woman by acting all brave and heroic.

I've just decided to make for the nearest demon, when I'm hurled backwards by an unseen force, my head cracking against a wall of some sort. The demon that's attacked me is by my side in an instant, leering over me, black, soulless, empty eyes staring at me. He plunges his hand straight into my chest and begins to squeeze my heart.

I scream and scream, the pain sending strobes of purple and black across my vision. I can feel the veins in my neck and face, glowing red as they are superheated by the demonic magic coursing through them. Suddenly the demon's jaw slackens and he explodes in a cloud of fine-misting blood.

Dean is framed in the rising cloud of scarlet, grinning cockily at me. Alice has hopped up on tiptoe and is in the act of pecking him on the cheek. Not how I wanted that to go if I'm honest.


	4. Chapter 4

Alice Black

Oh dear God, Dean Winchester is freaking fit and heroic and dreamy… Poor Tom, all he wanted to do was help and now he's propped up against the wall, coughing up demon blood. Thankfully, the rest of our motley group of fighters is doing much better than Tom is.

Castiel is standing in the middle of a ring of dismembered corpses glaring down on at them, looking as attractive as avenging angel. Sam is just yanking his knife from a demon's neck, wiping the blood off of it with his sleeve. Joe is glowing with a muted light, golden rays scattered from each pore that burns the demon's flesh from their bones, rendering the depraved, desiccated husks of their bodies uninhabitable to all demonic influence. His power is concentrated on Asmodeus who lies on the ground, held there by the invisible force of Joe and Anna's combined will. Anna is holding one of the thin blades against Asmodeus' throat, black, brackish blood beading on the silver surface.

Clarice, the quiet Asian hipster angel has killed just six demons but spins around swiftly to face the three different Supernatural forces that are locked in a fierce standoff. In a smooth, sinuous movement, she pulls _her_ knife from the nearest demon's chest and hurls it through the air.

I watch the shining silvered circle of metal whip past me and embed itself, not in Asmodeus but in Anna's back. She gasps in shock and pain, throwing her head back and letting out a scream of anguish. Having collapsed onto the gravel like a marionette whose strings have been cut, her body emits a shockwave of pure angelic power that throws Dean, Tom, Sam and me off of our feet.

Dizzily I stagger back up and stare at the ground where Anna fell, red hair splayed about her head in a corona of silk. Two black imprints of massive angel wings have been burnt into the ground, stark against the light grey background of concrete. Clarice has disappeared from sight and only Asmodeus remains, scowling deeply at the lot of us.

'Oh for fuck's sake,' she snaps, before evaporating.

'Castiel?!' Joe is seriously pissed off now, 'Are you _kidding_ me? We were about to kill _Asmodeus!_ As-freaking-modeus! Why did you bring along a fucking traitor?!'

Before he can reply, Dean interjects, 'Hold up, what's so bad about that one, punk-ass demon?'

'Well she's freakily powerful: archangel-level powerful, and she's hell-bent (I made a pun!) on reducing the world to a blasted landscape of death and decay.'

'Huh,' Dean muses, 'Real Girl Scout, then.'

'I didn't know she was one of Uriel's.' Castiel sighs, the carefree cheerfulness of his previous self, long gone. 'I am sorry though, Joseph.'

'It's Joe, Cas.' He sighs.

'Aren't all angels supposed to be, like, I dunno, living in harmony or something,' Sam asks, 'So why are you guys constantly killing each other?'

_'Someone,'_ Castiel begins, looking pointedly at Joe, 'Destroyed our leader Michael-'

'Okay, for one, I didn't actually "destroy" him.' Joe counters acidly, 'I just chucked him in the cage with Lucifer. And in fairness, they _were_ both trying to start the Apocalypse at the time.'

'Woah!' Tom exclaims, 'Like… _the_ Lucifer?'

'The Devil. The Serpent. Destroyer of God's Work. Simon Cowell. Yes, Tom that Lucifer,' replies Joe.

'And, what's the Cage?' I ask.

'Maximum-security section of Hell,' He responds dismissively with a wave of his hand, 'Basically the angels split into factions. Raphael's want to fee Michael and Lucifer from the Cage and jump-start the Apocalypse again.'

'Wait, what?' Tom asks, horrified.

'Uriel's faction,' Joe continues, ignoring Tom and ploughing on, 'Want to ally themselves with the demons and kill all of the humans. Except this way, all of your souls, even the good and virtuous, will go straight to Hell.'

'That's obviously not good.' I mutter.

'Castiel's faction wants to stop the other two and form a Council to rule Heaven fairly. There are countless who have struck out on their own though,' he continues, 'Like Balthazar, who stole most of our weapons.'

Castiel glares at the floor and shakes his head, 'Ass-butt,' he mutters.

I stifle a giggle at that and try to school my features into curiosity when Cas' eyes fall onto my face. It's pretty hard though with Dean pulling an array of spectacularly grotesque faces behind his back.

'There's a Civil War in Heaven?' Sam is dumbstruck by the sheer severity of it all.

'Yeah…' Joe says slowly, 'But I know a way to make you feel better about it.' He whispers something in Sam's ear which throws red across Sam's cheeks.

'I don't think that'll help the War, Joe.' He says.

'So you don't wanna do it?' Joe pouts and gives Sam his best puppy-dog look.

'I didn't say that,' Sam says, hastily.

'Cas, take them to the safe-house in Wales please. I'll be there tomorrow morning…' He glances at Sam, pursing his lip, 'Maybe a little later.'

And then they're gone, off to God knows where.

'Go Sammy,' grins Dean, flashing his pearly teeth.

Castiel closes his eyes and we are not in a car-park behind Lidl anymore but in knee-high grass, just outside a small squat, one-storey building in a random valley. The walls are daubed with similar runes to the ones back at Joe's house, which explains why Castiel didn't just take us directly inside.

Once we _are_ inside, we realise there is a problem. There are three of us and only two beds left. I say that but there is one other, which has already been claimed by Joe as Tom discovered when he sat on it and it dyed his hair blue. Apparently it isn't permanent.

It could not be _any_ more awkward right now. I really want to share a bed with Dean but that would kill Tom. Dean probably wouldn't feel as strongly but I'm pretty sure it wouldn't help my chances with him. The final option isn't even feasible. Tom would be dead by the time the sun rose (Sorry Tom, but you could _not_ take Dean).

Eventually we decide that Dean will sleep on the sofa and Tom and Tom and I will each take a room. Trying not to look too disappointed by this I head into the kitchen to fix myself some food and deliver a waitress-service to them then they're in for a big surprise.

After a quick dinner of soup and tinned fruit, the three of us gather in the lounge area to have a conference.

'How is this going to work?' I ask.

'Well, we can't just leave you two! We're Hunters, saving you guys from crap that goes bump in the night is how we earn a living.'

'We've been with them so far…' I point out to Tom.

'It's been 24 hours and we've almost been killed twice!' Tom is slightly overreacting. 'We've been fine for almost twenty years without you, Dean!' He practically spits Dean's name, as if the very voicing of it causes him severe pain.

And you didn't have a freaking Greater Demon or Archangel on your ass, back then, did you?' Dena replies coolly.

Sensing impending violence of one sort or another, I raise my hands before Tom has the chance to make a cutting remark. 'This is pointless,' I'm trying to end the conversation before it turns into a full-on fight, 'We're discussing plans while a good two-fifths of us are off having hot sex.'

Dean snorts and Tom looks faintly sick by the prospect. Having successfully put an end to the night's discussion, I get up and announce that I will be retiring to my room. Eagerly, Tom leaps up and says the same. While he isn't looking, I roll my eyes at Dean before trudging into the hall.

Tom and I part ways in front of our respective bedrooms and I settle down into the surprisingly comfortable bed, snuggling into the thick duvet for extra warmth. The mechanical, constant ticking of the clock slowly sends my mind into a dreamy stupor and I drift into temporary oblivion.

I wake to a quiet, but insistent tapping on the door. It's only 1:13am so I am not impressed. I'm positive it's Tom so I plan to quickly brush up my appearance before I respond, punishing Tom. He'll be refused by a vision of perfection that will haunt his dreams.

Quickly, I rinse my hair and brush it so that it hangs in natural, damp curls and dab some concealer onto the bags of an early awakening. As a final touch, I spray a hint of perfume that I found in the cupboard (why do you have perfume, Joe?) on.

I open the door and am faced by the shock of my life, for standing there, the epitome of male beauty, Dean grins sleepily at me, his eyes fractionally widening at my flawless (if I do say so myself) appearance.

Oh crap. I am not mentally prepared to refuse that hot slice of boy that is casually leaning against my doorframe. Thank God I took the time to make myself pretty (not that I wasn't pretty before).

'Woah…' Dean's voice is full of wonder and his jaw hands slack as he stares at me. I've made him speechless: Alice – 1, Dean – 0.

I too am bowled over by him, a tight shirt that he found in the cupboard fits snugly around his chest, emphasising the hard slabs of muscle beneath. Before I can stop myself, my legs carry me forward of their own volition and my arms twine themselves around his perfectly corded neck.

'Hold me.' I breathe, my breath tickling his ear.

He doesn't protest, but moans with pleasure and in one smooth movement, picks me up and places me on the soft mattress. I raise my head and bury it into his neck, inhaling his sweet, soapy scent beneath which there remains the salty tang of sweat and blood. Hooking my fingers in the loops of his jeans, I draw him closer and slide my hands up the ridged expanse of his chest.

Carefully I flip my hands so I'm clutching the thin fabric of his small top and pull it over my head, resting mine against his warm, bare chest, feeling the pounding of his heart reverberating through my skull. My lips meet his, gently at first and then with increasing urgency sending crackles of electricity through my veins. With a sigh of defeat he falls back against the bed.

By the end of the night it's Alice – 1, Dean – 37.


	5. Chapter 5

Joe Cooperstown

Oh Dear God, Sam Winchester is freaking fit and sweet and sensitive… Seriously, this might be the guy who gets me over my insane, unexplained devotion to some boy that can never return my feelings and continue – but never mind that now.

Sam has told me all about what Tom did when Alice and I were incapacitated, how he ran straight to Alice, not sparing me a glance. As he told me, I felt a small portion of my soul, my happiness and my vitality, leeched away and died inside. I try to tell myself that I'm over him, but every time he does anything I die a little more.

Sensing my anguish, Sam wraps his arm around me and pulls me closer to his chest. We share a look, more squint really, because of the bright sunlight that beams down on the two of us makes it nearly impossible to see. Because of the intense heat and scorching sun, Sam has taken off his shirt and balled it up behind his head as a pillow.

For the past 3 hours, I have had one hand on Sam's chest, possessively stroking circles on his tanned skin, talking about… everything. I've never opened up like this before to anyone, and he already knows more about me than anyone else alive does. In turn, he told me about his life in the US, his father who was determined to make him a person that he wasn't and how he ran away. We are just getting onto the topic of his university life at Stanford when he slips up and mentions his _girl_friend Jessica.

'I'm sorry, what?!' I yell, making him jump, 'I thought you batted for _my_ team!'

Sam grins a bit sheepishly, What's college for? Experimenting.'

Grumpily I settle down again and wait for the rest. Sam tells me about coming back from his first Hunt in 4 years to fins the one tiny speck of happiness left in his life (I bridle slightly at this) has been murdered. So many months after it happened the event still has the power to choke his voice as its halfway out of his throat. I feel his pain as if it's my own and tears trickle down my face as well. Why is everything I ever love broken?

A light tingling pressure on the back of my neck breaks me out of my reverie. Sam's lips are like a breath of fresh air after spending twenty years in a cold, concrete cell. In other words; something exhilarating and heart-breakingly perfect' something I've been waiting for for twenty years – my entire life. He's an addictive drug that I can't get off now that I'm on. There have been brief flashes where I've wondered how much he needs me. I worry that I'm just the latest in a long line of people whose hearts were shattered by Sam leaving them… But I am not like them, I tell myself, I am not human, and heart, scarred over from five years of repeated torture (accidental) from Tom is strong. Not stone exactly, but hard to touch at any rate.

We make out for a time, my lips pressing down on his, our tongues desperately seeking each other, each time there's a touch, sizzling electricity arcs through my veins, scrambling my thoughts into dizzying spirals of nonsensical gibberish. My top is off in seconds and together, we stumble into the cool shade of the house. Too desperate to walk to the bedroom, we collapse on the sofa not pausing for a second.

Sam teases my loose cotton shorts off and throws them as far away from the couch as he possibly can. I manage to extract him from his (skinny!) jeans which land on the floor next to my shorts. And in a frenzied 2 hours of sweat and rapid movement the real exercise starts.

* * *

Snoring is not one of the most attractive aspects of a person, but somehow, Sam manages to remain completely adorable as he wheezes in his sleep. His fringe flutters every time he breathes out so finally, the inevitable happens. A stray hair tickles the edge of his nostril until an explosive sneeze rocks his body and shocks him into wakefulness.

'Hey, handsome,' I grin, draping my arm over my bare leg, 'Wanna try for a record?'

'As much fun as that sounds,' Sam replies, pecking me on the cheek, 'We really should get back to the others…'

'Fair enough,' I pout, before a sudden thought comes to me, 'Oh shit!'

'What?' Sam lunges off the sofa, grabbing his jeans as he rolls across the floor, before leaping to his feet holding the wickedly sharp knife I gave him yesterday.

Giggling a little at his protective side, I, too, leave the couch and walk over to him. 'I was just thinking…' He rolls his eye and lets the knife clatter to the ground. '…demons can still possess you guys, can't they?'

'Um, yeah,' Sam says it as if it's obvious, 'We are _human_.'

'How would you like to get a tattoo?'

'Of your name?' He seems pleased by the idea, 'Yes! I have an idea of where it can go-'

'Woah, there!' I raise my hands in a gesture of surrender. 'Simmer down! That _does_ sound like a great idea but I was thinking more of an anti-possession tattoo.'

'That's a thing?' Sam asks, curiously.

'Yep.' I sidle a little closer, imperceptibly widening my eyes suggestively, Where d'you want this one?'

'On the chest is fine,' That's a bit of a disappointment, 'I mean there's only so much space on my-'

'Chest it is.' I smile, carefully placing my hand on his heart and focusing my power. Burning hot under my hand, his skin flares red, shining through my fingers. A muffled grunt of pain disguised as a cough escapes Sam's lips and I look up into his brown eyes apologetically, 'Sorry,' I murmur, 'I can't help the pain.'

But thankfully the pain is quick and the tattoo is already complete. The design is a simple Vita Pentagram outlined with a wash of black ink mixed with salt and iron filings to make the tattoo more difficult to tamper with.

'I think it looks sexy,' I console him, ducking my head a little to kiss it tenderly. 'There are also some designs etched onto your ribcage so Angels can't track you.'

'And if I need an Angel?'

'Pray to Cas.'

* * *

We materialise outside my Welsh abode (abode? Am I a drunken recluse?) at just after 10am and quietly let ourselves in. I point Sam in the direction of my bedroom; neither of us got much sleep and he, being human, needs some rest. As an afterthought I lift the enchantment on my bed, not desiring my boyfriend to have blue hair for the next day. Boyfriend, I yell excitedly in my head, I can finally say I've got a boyfriend!

Pushing open the first bedroom door leads me to a passed out Tom, a long stripe of blue still colouring his light hair. I linger for a moment, allowing myself to watch him inhale and exhale twice before moving on.

The second bedroom contains a bit more of a surprise – Dean, lying completely naked, a lucky corner of the blanket covering his crotch, is holding Alice in his brawny arms. Looking at Dean is like being offered a palace to live in but refusing, being perfectly content to remain in my spectacular, if slightly less spectacular, mansion. I feel the sudden urge to declare loudly to the empty room; "No thanks,. Dean. I'm in love with Sam." The unexpected twang of my heart effectively tacking "and Tom" onto the end of the sentence.

'Morning,' I say drily, loudly too.

Alice doesn't stir but Dean who had the reflexes of a Hunter springs into consciousness… okay maybe not. Grunting and groaning, he peels back his eyelids and takes me in, looking me up and down and trying to figure out why I look so smug. I just stand there and continue to grin until I see the dawning of understanding in his features and a bit of a panic too.

'Please don't tell Tom,' Dean begs of me.

'I'm not going to,' I assure him, taking in his relief, 'But why?' Technically, Tom isn't dating her so he doesn't really have any grounds to…'

'Oh, please,' Snorts Dean, 'We've all seen the way he looks at her. I don't want to hurt him and if I have to keep him safe, then it would be better if the dude didn't hate my guts and maybe trusted me.'

I'm pleased to hear that Dean is taking keeping my friends safe seriously and thankful that he's doing everything he can not to piss off Tom. Other than… you know… _not_ sleeping with Alice but I'm willing to let that slide.

'Anyway,' Dean continues, 'He seems like a cool guy; reminds me of a young Dean Winchester.' I raise my eyebrows, 'Okay, maybe he's not the best fighter, but he's got natural talent. With a little training…'

'Oh no, Dean Winchester, you are not turning him into a Hunter; he'll never get back out again.' I look him in the eye, not allowing him to break contact by the simple practice of a strong will-power.

'Fine,' He snaps, grudgingly.

'Thanks, mate, it means a lot-'

Dean holds up a hand, cutting me off, 'Hey. No chick-flick moments.'

* * *

I spend the next hour making breakfast. What king of bizarre household is catered for by a gay half-angel, I ask you. Although to be fair, it's probably the plot to one of the "Friends" reunion episodes.

Picking up supplies is a simple measure of shoplifting. I do feel a little bad for the old, newsagent so turn the lottery ticket he's checking into a winner. (It's only £39.7 million this week). Once the smell of bacon and sausages fill the air, I know it's only a matter of time before Tom appears and, sure enough, he is the first to rise at 11:26, sniffing the air hopefully while blearily rubbing sleep-deprived eyes with the back of his hand. Silently I hand him a full plate, knowing the clatter of one person eating will soon bring Dean and Alice from their "respective" bedrooms.

Sam, being the guest of honour, gets breakfast in bed with an attractive delivering service. No, not Alice! Me! He's not that hungry so we lie in the quiet for a while, listening to the sound of each other's breathing.

At about midday, we gather in the living room to decide what the fuck we're going to do. Dean and Alice are separated by a slightly disgruntled-looking Tom and they often exchange secretive glances above his head. I can tell that this is going to be a very long argument and prepare myself for the mental suffering that I'm about to go through.

'All right!' I say, trying to exude as much confidence as possible, 'Let's begin.'


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N_

**_So I realised that I haven't put a disclaimer in any of the chapters earlier so I'll do one now._**

**_Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or plotlines affiliated with Supernatural, like Sam, Dean, Castiel, Anna or Ruby. I do own Alice, Joe, Tom, Clarice and Asmodeus/Katherine as well as all of their plots._**

* * *

Tom Demrams

Alice and Dean are possibly the most clueless people I've ever met. She seems intelligent enough when you first meet her but she really does not notice anything that's staring her right in the face. I'm pretty sure that neither of them realised how thin the walls were when they came into the house. I can't say I noticed either, if I'm being completely honest but it became pretty apparent when I was up all night listening to the two of them performing the tender act of owooga.

All the way though Joe's very long description of our options, they exchange looks barely contained longing and thinly veiled lust. Sam is the only one who is paying Joe any attention, but he hasn't noticed because he's too busy "surreptitiously" checking Sam out. I catch some snatches of what Joe's saying but mainly, I'm just mulling over my thoughts.

'And then, Little Red Riding Hood put the Woodcutter's warm knob in his mouth-' Joe says glancing at all of us.

Dean and Alice don't even notice, just nod absently and keep staring into each other's eyes.

'What?!' I yell, causing Dean to jump halfway out of his chair.

'Finally!' Sam, for the first time ever, sounds exasperated, 'We've been talking about various forms of sex for the past ten minutes!'

'I love it when you talk dirty to me,' Joe whispers.

'Okay, you are one horny-ass son of a bitch,' Dean snaps, 'Get a freaking room!'

'My point is that none of you are listening to what I'm saying.' Joe huffs, evidently sad that he won't be able to make any more sexual innuendos, 'Alice, I'm so sorry, but Raphael's spell that I effectively exorcised left a mark on your soul. It's not going to heal for years and until then Raphael will be able to find you wherever you go, unless Castiel or I stays with you, to hide you from him. You've got no choice. If you want to be safe coming on Hunts with us, we're going to have to train you.'

'Cool!' Alice smiles.

'Not cool,'' Joe's voice is grave, 'You'll never be free of this life. You may get tantalisingly close but it just sucks you back in again.' For some reason he looks sadly at Sam when he says this.

But Alice only cares about being able to stay with Dean not about the danger and death that will now dog her every step of what remains of her life.

'Tom… I don't want you to become a Hunter.' Joe looks as though he's delivering good news, 'You aren't… I don't want to have to go to your funeral as well.'

'So I don't get a choice?!' I am shocked by the strength of my own reaction, 'It's my life, Joe; you can't protect me forever!'

There's an irrational glint of anger in Joe's eyes then, but I think I am the only one who is looking carefully enough to sense the underlying grief as well. 'I can bloody well try!' He practically screeches. Sam looks faintly alarmed and places a calming hand on his shoulder. Slowly the flush fades from his cheeks and he calms down but he is still adamant on one thing: 'No training, Tom.'

* * *

The minute Joe's out of the door, Dean turns to me and dispels the fear of a week or so of complete silence, 'I'm assuming that you wouldn't mind, or tell your feathery friend, if _I_ trained you?'

'Why do _you_ want to help _me_?' I say, suspiciously.

'I don't want crap between us.' He replies, 'I don't want you to _hate_ me.

'Really?' I say, unable to keep the disbelief from my voice, the resentment that has simmered for days in my chest finally finding a way out. 'So you having sex with Alice five times out of the past eight nights is trying to get along?!'

'Did choir-boy tell you?' I feel some of my fury ebb as I realise that he doesn't particularly like Joe either right now.

'No… you're quite… loud.' I struggle to keep a blush from my face.

'I saw a natural-born Hunter in you,' Dean admits, 'It seems like a shame to let one go to waste, especially with the amount of demons we're dealing with right now.'

I search for any sign that he's just feeding me a pile of crap but find him completely lie-free. And anyway: he's offering me what I want. 'Deal!' I say, extending my hand.

* * *

We spend the next nine days training full on until Joe comes back and I'm surprised by how easily all of this comes to me. Every weapon I hold feel familiar and _right_ in my grip, although some of them I don't even know the name of.

When the others get back, I need a way to keep on training without Joe or Sam (who will tell Joe) finding out. Eventually I come up with an idea.

'Joe?' I probe, 'I haven't done any climbing in a while and I really need to keep on top form… and there's a climbing centre nearby…'

He sighs but considers it for a moment. 'Fine, but who'll take you? You're _not _going on your own.'

'Dean,' I reply, trying not to let the fact that Joe treats me like I'm a fucking six-year-old. 'We've been getting on better and I figured this would help.' In fairness the first part is true but we just want to find an empty field to spar in as far away from Joe as possible.

'Okay.' Joe seems taken aback, 'It's good that you're getting along. But promise you'll stay safe.'

I am getting sick of Joe trying to control my life. He acts so wounded by everything I do and hurt when I can't make eye contact with him. After dropping a bombshell like the one he did. He should be grateful I'm even speaking to him – I need time to adjust. And one minute he's making out with Sam and the next he's looking longingly at me. "Oh, I love you Sam! But I love Tom! Sam! Tom!" It's pathetic, whiney and probably a ploy for attention; why can't he just be happy with the boyfriend he's got.

But I suck it up and hold it in, forcing two words between my clenched teeth. 'I promise.'

* * *

Something surprising is happening to my body. I was never _very_ short but I noticed that my head was about the height of Joe's shoulder. Before I started to train with Dean, I was of a height of about 5 foot 8 inches, not short particularly but smaller than the average person. All of these stretches and forms that I practised with Dean over the last two months have given me another half-foot of height and created strings of ropey muscle on my arms and legs to join the ones that are already on my chest.

There's a series of murders in the small village in which Joe's small house is situated. Sam, Joe and Alice are off on a Hunt but I don't think they would even notice if they were here. They're so overconfident about their Hunting abilities that they can't even comprehend anything supernatural going on in their home turf.

'Another one,' Dean announces, throwing the newspaper down on the kitchen table. I don't need to read the Headline to know what he's talking about, but I need to read the article to discover the details.

That's the fourth one this week.' I say, throwing the paper down, 'All young girls and all missing their heads and limbs. And the police still haven't found any of the missing… parts?'

Dean shakes his head, 'It's not like any demonic ritual I've ever seen before. Maybe the heads but why the limbs?'

We've plotted a grid of all four of the deaths, and have spotted a pattern. They're all within a half-mile radius of a series of caves that are supposedly inhabitable according to the police, but that's probably just an excuse; so they don't have to search there. But we don't have that luxury.

We kit up all day, creating a pack (that _I_ have to carry) full of guns, knives and flamethrowers. Of course we have to wait until nightfall before leaving and by the time the final rays of sunlight dip beneath the craggy horizon I'm shattered, but of course, Dean has a solution to that too. It involves alcohol.

Carefully avoiding twigs and dry leaves, we trek through the long grass that surrounds Joe's safe-house before following a rocky trail to a dark recess in the ominous slab of rock that I've seen form the window, many times in the distance. Cautiously we go inside, taking time to draw our guns from our holsters and for me to pull two torches from my pack, handing one to Dean. Clicking them on, we walk through the lightless entryway.

Greeted by the sound of dripping water, we time our soft footfalls to the drops, to cover as much as our gently sloping downward progress as possible. Our torchlight beams bounce off of every surface, scattering strobes of luminescence throughout the passageway. Swinging my torch down, I see veins of darker water creeping out from a point behind a particularly thick stalagmite. Blood. It looks as if someone has accidentally scraped a long gash on the tip of the stone, sending a rivulet of blood down its long surface. It can't have been _that_ long ago, because the blood has not dried yet, although that could be due to the amount of moisture in the air and on top of the stone.

For some reason the blood draws me in and I have the strange urge to lick it all up…

'What is it?' The abrupt, harsh quality of Dean's voice breaks me out of my reverie and back to earth. He kneels down and pokes a pile of something I haven't noticed. 'Particles of sulphur mixed with the blood… this is demon-blood.'

We follow the trial of drips through a few intersections, crossroads and curves, eventually coming to a small centre-chamber. The floor is covered in shifting piles of what I first perceive to be white stones but correct my mistake as I look closer.

'Bones.' I gulp, 'Are they animal?'

'Not all of them,' Dean says grimly, looking away.

In the centre of the room there is a slightly raised plinth on which stands an altar of what looks to be obsidian. Four sharpened wooden stakes are driven into the ground at what I assume are the four cardinal points, each tipped with the head of one of the girls we have been searching for. The eyes stare blankly ahead, slack jaws hanging open in soundless screams of abject terror, ropes of solidifying blood stretching between the teeth. They look like rusting stitches that have ripped apart so that the girl may share with the world the fear and anguish she's experiencing. A selection of exotic looking herbs and spices cover the surface of the altar, five tall, black unlit candles standing on the line of yet another chalk circle.

We're about to go closer to figure out what the indistinct white shapes on the top of the herb carpet are, when we hear a pebble skitter in the corridor behind up. Exchanging a dark look, we duck behind a large pile of rocks and wait for whomever or whatever is coming our way. Just to be safe, I click the safety off of my gun. It won't kill a demon but there are a few tricks I've got up my sleeve.

Two men and one woman walk into the room, each of the men holding a lit brazier that trails flames and sparks through the air behind. Clearly, the woman is more senior than the other two, I can tell by the way she struts ahead and looks down her nose at the man. Reminds me of Alice. (Joke – If she finds this… I'm dead)

'You'll get the last head tonight?' asks the woman.

'Yes, ma'am,' the latter one replies, 'We've got a target picked out.' He grins at the other man, the gesture making me feel quite sick.

Dean taps me on the shoulder, whispering, 'We'll each take a man and whoever finishes first takes the woman.' I'm too nervous to make a comment about how that sounded and simply check that all of my daggers are ready, spare pistols too.

Whilst this is going on, the smaller man speaks, 'Are you sure, Asmodeus wants us to do this, Ruby?'

The woman, Ruby, rolls her eyes as if this is a question that is all too frequently asked, '_Yes_, Elias. I've told you before; we are acting on her secret plan!' Something tells me she's lying.

At that moment we spring out from behind the rocks and tackle the men. I have had the fortune to be stuck with Elias who, once over his initial shock, throws me back against the stone wall with enough force to click or crack something in my back. Fumbling slightly I raise my gun, aim and fire, feeling ridiculously pleased that I have managed to aim perfectly, getting the bullet right between his eyes.

The wound heals instantly and the demon tries to step forward, grinning at me, 'That won't hurt me.' His face tautens as again, he attempts to walk toward me but cannot seem to get anywhere. 'What's going on?'

I hold up one of my bullets and throw it to him seeing him examine it carefully, watching his eyes widen as he sees the design etched in the silver-washed steel: a pentagram.

A scream that cuts through the air on the other side of the room alerts me to the fact that Dean has dispatched the tall demon and is pinned to the ground by Ruby who is holding a knife to his throat. His muscles tremble as he tries to hold back her superhuman strength.

Considering my demon is pretty much taken care of, I run over and swing my largest dagger as hard as I can at her neck. The instant it touches the soft skin at the nape of her neck, smoke boils out of her mouth, a roiling mass of clouds that disappear into the deeper recesses of the caves. Her head hits the ground with a wet thump and rolls through the crackling carpet of bones and comes to rest at the foot of the altar. Stepping closer to the aforementioned altar, I notice something I didn't before. White, severed limbs reach into the centre of the chalk, herb-filled, circle, their hands meeting in the middle, palms facing upwards as if waiting to receive something from above.

I shiver and turn back to Dean. 'We need to destroy this.' I say.

'Don't sweat it,' He smiles dangerously, 'I got some dynamite in my baby.' He's referring to the car.

We turn back toward the corridor and spin around when there's a noise back at the altar. 'What?' Ruby says, for it _is _Ruby, I'm sure; just in a different body. 'Didn't you think I might have a spare lying around?'

Before we can stop her, she bends down and picks up what was, until a few minutes ago her own head, placing it on the eight, upturned hands. She smiles evilly, the skin on her face stretching into an inhuman mask, a single word slipping from her lips.

_'__Veni.'_

_Come_

An explosion of pure, unadulterated force picks me up and hurls me against the wall, my head cracking against it with enough force to scatter stars across my sight. The shock reverberates through my bones and as the warm, sticky blood begins to trickle from my skull, I lose consciousness.

* * *

_**So I'd just like to say that this is where I think the storyline becomes vaguely decent so hope you enjoy it. Please comment and review. I'm not going to be able to post anything until I get back from my holiday but I have written down everything, it just isn't on a computer - it takes time to type it all up.**_

_**BYE!**_


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N_

**_Okay, so maybe I managed to upload one more. I'm typing as fast as I can because I love Chapter Number 11. I'll get back on it! Please comment and review! (Sorry it's so short)._**

**_Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or plotlines affiliated with Supernatural, like Sam, Dean, Castiel, Anna or Ruby. I do own Alice, Joe, Tom, Clarice and Asmodeus/Katherine as well as all of their plots._**

* * *

Alice Black

We came back to the house a few hours ago, exhausted from a close call with a vengeful spirit to find no-one at home. A pile of newspaper clippings covered the coffee table with a large map of the town stretched across the floor. A system of caves was circled in red marker. It didn't take a genius to figure it out.

When Joe read the articles his face paled and his voice was unsteady, 'We need to hurry.'

And now, here we are, trudging through a wet, cold and dark tunnel through which streams of brackish blood and water run, staining my boots. Please don't let it be their blood, I think to myself, please let them be alright. Joe looks pale and drawn and usually I would have thought it was because Tom was in danger, but he's been acting oddly since he saw the clippings. There's something he isn't telling me.

We come to a central sort of room. Rubble and small bones cover the floor, all covered in yet more trickles of blood. Half-buried underneath this pile of refuse, Dean's white face sticks out like a sore thumb, his face completely swollen up on the left side. There's too much rubble for a human to move, even between the three of us.

Joe sees my glance and pushes back his sleeves. A golden glow builds underneath his skin and his hair lifts in an unfelt breeze. Each rock slowly dissipates into puddles of shadow that scatter into the background darkness of the cave. Tom's body is lying close by to Dean's but he isn't moving. At all. I run to him as fast as I can but Joe gets there first, appearing right next to him in a millisecond. He feels for a pulse and I can tell by his eyes that there is none. Tom is dead.

'CASTIEL!' Joe's voice cracks in the middle of the word. As if he's used up all of his energy by crying this single word, he falls to the ground. Or at least, he would have, if Castiel had not materialised next to him and caught his body. 'We have to get him back, we have to get him back!'

'You know that the Fates will not allow it,' Castiel replies gently.

'I do not give a _shit_ about the Fates! They owe me a favour!' Joe is hysterical. By contrast I feel numb; Tom, the boy with the insane sense of humour, goofy smile and amazing hair is completely gone. This can't be happening.

'I can't-' Castiel begins.

'Cas.' Joe's voice is low, strained, urgent, pained, 'It is my birthday in two weeks, please!' He begs, 'I can't go through this again, first Gabriel and now Tom. Cas, you know I can't take any more of this.'

'Who's Gabriel?' asks Sam, the only one of us two that's inquisitive enough to care right now.

'My brother.' Joe admits, 'Half-brother, really. He was completely human. Dad had so many attempts at getting over mum, but only one of them resulted in a baby.'

'What happened to him?' This time I ask the question because I need to know the answer.

'He tracked me down and we spent three years of our lives, from when I was just eleven together. Living it rough. And then… Asmodeus… I wasn't strong enough to save him, or even go up to Heaven and retrieve his soul. But now I am.' He squares his shoulders and faces Castiel, 'I will get him back, whether you help me or not.'

Castiel seems to accept that there is no way for him to convince Joe to back down. He disappears again, presumably up to Heaven and Joe finally lets himself fall to the floor and crawls on exhausted limbs toward Dean. He touches his index finger to Dean's forehead and Dean's blood slowly stops flowing. Sam quickly strides over to him, cradling his body like that of a child, whispering words of comfort in his ear, trying to calm him down. Joe grips his shoulders, hanging on to him like a life-belt, finally letting the last of his composure slip away.

I wearily fall onto Dean's chest and eat one of the snack bars that Sam has produced from one of the voluminous pockets to build up some sort of energy. We wait in silence other than Joe's crying, not wanting to talk about what happened in the past half-hour.

Castiel's re-arrival, over two hours later, breaks the silence, but he has not come with a glowing, phosphorous gleam of bright white light gripped in his fist, that Joe has said Tom's soul will look like.

'Where is he?' Joe's voice is low, threatening. 'You promised, Cas!'

'His soul is not in Heaven.' Castiel says, 'Neither is it in Hell.'

'It _has_ to be in one of them for fuck's sake!' Joe screams, hysterically, 'Where the fuck else could it fucking be?' Joe has a slight problem with over-swearing when he's pissed off.

'Joseph…' Castiel is sombre, 'There is one other place.'

'Where?!'

'Purgatory.' Castiel looks as though he's delivering awful news but I'm sure it can't be as bad as Hell.

Joe starts to speak but I cut him off, 'But… in the mythology, Purgatory is nicer than Hell.'

Sam looks surprised by my knowledge which is very offensive, 'Actually, she has a point!'

'Castiel, Purgatory doesn't exist!' Joe, for the first time since all of this shit went down, doesn't know something.

'There are some things that only angels and their ilk are privy to.' Oh! Joe just got pwned. 'Every monster that has ever been killed resides in Purgatory, excluding full angels and full demons, who simply cease to be. So no Alice; Purgatory is not "nicer" than Hell, if anything it's worse. And only humans can escape again.

'But if Tom isn't human-' Sam breaks off as Joe and I glare at him, daring him to go on, 'Then how will he get out?'

An idea slowly dawns on me, aided by Castiel's description of monsters' souls using humans to hitchhike out, and I clear my throat, drawing everyone's attention. I am still lying against Dean, so I stand up, pushing back hair from my eyes and trying to wipe some of the grime from my arms. I am bruised, battered, shattered and covered in a crusty coating of blood, mixed with mud but I am also ready to go into Purgatory. I'm human: Tom can use my body as a conduit and bring himself back. It's the least I can do, especially considering what he did for me so long ago…

'I can go.' I step forward, slightly reminiscent of a certain book character, 'I volunteer as tribute.' Joe looks at me tiredly and slowly shakes his head, but I'm too fired up to be refused, 'Tom can use my body as a spiritual cup-holder and I'll find the exit to get us back; easy.'

'Definitely not!' Joe exclaims, horrified by the prospect, 'I'm not even sure that your body can take such a massive shock to the system. And anyway, you've been training for two months, not nearly long enough to ready yourself for something this big.' I am sick of that overprotective bastard.

'I can go.' Sam offers, looking crestfallen as Joe shakes his head yet again.

'You're human: like Alice, your body would not survive the trip, although you might've been fine once you got there.' He admits. 'No… I think we all know what the solution is… and it's been right in front of us for quite some time.'

Sam and I exchange a glance; we both saw this coming a mile off. Joe, "heroically" sacrifices his life in a last ditch attempt to save Tom's soul… or, more likely, get into his pants. Poor Sam, Joe hurts him so much and yet they are the perfect match. Except for Joe's perverted, single-minded obsession with a certain someone of course… Poor both of them.

'Joe, you aren't fully human: you won't get back. Plus, you aren't even fully seraphic, you might not even get _there_!' Sam tries to make him see reason, but to no avail – I may have mentioned single-minded obsession a short while ago.

None of _you_ have even got a chance!' Joe snaps. 'Anyway, it'll be difficult enough to get through: you'll need angelic assistance, even with the door left open…'

'Wait!' I say, a small flower of apprehension expanding in my chest, 'What do you mean "door left wide open?"'

The ritual.' Castiel interrupts, his steady demeanour, 'It is a secondary way to create a bridge into Purgatory. I fear that the demons have already let something through, but let us hope that I am wrong… they must not tread the earth once more.' Well that was suitably creepy and terrifying, cos what can scare an angel? I shiver to myself.

'See?' Joe smiles weakly, 'I'll just pop through the door and be back with Tom; lickety-split!'

'Please don't say that again.' I groan.

'Sorry.' Joe begins to shift in and out of my sight, pulsing with glowing strands of power. 'I'll be back before you can say Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!' His voice is oddly muffled and reverberates through the room. And then he is gone.

There is a long, awkward pause until Castiel says, 'I don't get it!' And then, 'Super-'

'Don't.' Snaps Sam.

And I fall into a river of memories, flashing by in quick beats.

_A date at my house with Tom. My father in the front room. Trying to sneak past him, upstairs, to my bedroom. A creaking step. A held breath. The lurching of my father's armchair. A bright flash of pain across my face. A scar that will never heal. Covered every day since with concealer. The sight of Tom, his back to me, facing my father, a barrier, a shield. The first blow and Tom falling, curling over my body, shaking as each new impact comes. My father unable to beat a whimper from his lips._


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N_

**_Hello! Okay so I've managed a final Chapter type-up but I'm leaving in three hours so I need to pack and stuff... sorry. Hope you enjoy the slightly longer chapter, this is one of my favourites._**

**_Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or plotlines affiliated with Supernatural, like Sam, Dean, Castiel, Anna or Ruby. I do own Alice, Joe, Tom, Clarice and Asmodeus/Katherine as well as all of their plots._**

* * *

Joe Cooperstown

I am hurled through a maelstrom of light and colour, clouds of grey smoke battering my body as I fall further and further, my screams lost in the air rushing past my face. Two burning pinpricks of sharp pain pierce the base of my shoulder-blades and I scrabble the back of my body, panic filling my mind. My wings!

Just as this thought occurs to me, I smash into a massive pile of bracken and brambles that scratch lines of blood across my bare arms and face. Slowly, I raise my head and look around taking in my first impressions of Purgatory.

Erupting from the ground in tall clusters, the trees stand in the grey half-light, groping toward the surface of the earth like skeletal fingers of some massive beast, buried alive below. Filtering through the dying leaves, the light streams form some unknown point in the sky, no sun visible. Before I forget, I cats my charm and savour the cheerful gleam that the angel magic brings me in this godforsaken place. Hopefully it's worked, but there'll be no way to tell until I get back. _If _I get back, an internal voice corrects me.

I'm preparing to Cast a Seeking spell when something explodes from the underbrush behind me and makes for my neck. I'm slow on the defence, my head still focused on the instinct of self-preservation. My body smashes into a large tree and hits the ground hard but I ignore the pain and yank one of my knives from my shoe, not even knowing what it is that's attacking me. I look up and see a girl with yellow, snake-like eyes baring her elongated fangs at me… vetala.

The vetala bites down on my neck, the poison in its teeth already speeding through my veins, pumped on its way by my speeding heart. I manage to bury my dagger in her chest, thankful that it is made of silver, before my limbs lock and I can no longer move. The vetala falls backward, crumbling into ash. I try to get up, but I can't the paralysis effect of the venom still working on my muscles.

Heavily falling on my shoulder, a hand reminds me of something else that I have forgotten about the vetala. Vetala almost always hunt in pair, it seems that this is true even in Purgatory. Immobilised, all I can do is watch as the man picks up my knife and places it against my neck, drawing a line of red across the pale skin. I may be half-angel but I can still be killed with a normal weapon, if I'm so drained that I can't heal myself.

The vetala draws back the knife and prepares to dig it into some vital part of my anatomy and I also prepare, closing my eyes and waiting for the inevitable. _Sam_ my mind whispers. Thudding into something solid, a knife sends a wet spray of what I can only assume is blood down my chest. Curiously, the sound is not accompanied by oblivion or even pain, and I cautiously open my eyes to see what has happened.

Standing tall and defiant, framed by… well… _trees_, Tom holds a wooden-handled knife in his hand and grins down at me. 'You really are a crappy Hunter angel-boy,' He quips.

I can't force an answer between my clenched lips and the angelic blood in my veins fights to neutralise the venom. All through the fourteen minutes of my recovery, Tom stands guard, although mothing attacks us, with his knife ready for anything that might come. Once I'm alright again, I got up and look hard at Tom.

'Do you know where you are?' I ask, prepared to break the bad news. How do you tell someone that they're trapped in Purgatory?

'No, Joe, I don't; isn't this shit supposed to be _your_ area of expertise?' Oh great! This is all _my_ fault now!

'You're in Purgatory, Tom!' I snap, feeling a tide of resentment rise in me, 'Do you wanna know why? Because you're not fucking human! And seeing as I'm the only one of us that is actually even partly human and therefore our only ticket out of this godforsaken shit-hole, why don't you just, for once, listen to me!'

He is shocked into silence for a short amount of time, trying to comprehend what I've just said. 'I'm not human?' He finally chokes out.

'No.' I say abruptly, but, noticing the distress and pain in Tom's face, try to be a little less harsh, 'Do you want me to… find out what you are?'

I have no idea what he'll say and I don't think he does either, but finally he looks up from the ground, 'If it's not too much trouble, then yes, please.' I'm not sure if he's really ready but I offered so I can't really go back on my promise.

'Okay,' I say carefully, 'But it is going to hurt… a lot.' Tom groans and sits on the floor, waiting. I close my eyes and summon all of my power and supernatural awareness, focusing them on one single point on the tip of my index finger. Controlling this amount of magic is like handling unstable plutonium; dangerous with disastrous consequences and pretty damn stupid too, so I'm as cautious as possible when I place the glowing spark on Tom's forehead. And then the screaming begins.

I know what this feels like, every atom in his body on fire, burning all at once so I try to speed up my search as I check his vital life energy for tell-tale signs. All in all it takes 10 seconds, which doesn't sound like long but I wish I could have been quicker. Once I realise what Tom Demrams really is, I leap backwards from him, the spell-connection shattering a I run from him.

Oh shit. He's always been a difficult bugger and he had managed to be one of the most dangerous and powerful creatures in existence. He is like me and he is completely different. He is half-human but his other half is most definitely not angel. He's an anti-Christ, half human and half demon.

My fingers scrabble in the dirt for a few seconds, desperately seeking a weapon of some sort, before I remember my hidden arsenal and pull out my angel blade. Even in this desolate forest of the damned, it shimmers with an ethereal light, trailing a soft, blue-white afterglow behind the enchanted metal. Exhaling in a panicked breath, I peer out from behind the tall oak that I am sheltering myself against and take in the sight of the clearing that I have just abruptly departed from. Tom is sitting up, resting on the palms of his hands looking after me, his gaze dazed from the pain.

'Joe?' He calls, 'Where did you go?'

I would never admit it if asked but I am absolutely terrified of Tom right now. He isn't just half-demon; he's half-Greater-demon. He's the demonic equivalent of an archangel hybrid; supremely powerful and merciless. He could tear me in half. The realisation hits me like a slap in the face. But it's Tom. I don't think he would hurt me but obviously I can't be sure; Purgatory awaken the darkness in us all. But it's Tom.

Slowly I crawl around the base of the tree, keeping my back firmly pressed up against the rough bark, lest something else try and attack me whilst I'm focused on Tom. 'Here.' I say, keeping my voice low.

It doesn't matter though, Tom still hears me and his head spins around with a decisive snap, seeking me out. 'Why?' He asks simply, and the vulnerability of his word fills me with reassurance: it's Tom. He won't hurt me, but a single nagging voice in the back of my head remains a little suspicious.

I avoid the question, 'You wanted to know what you are?' He nods fractionally and I breathe out in a sigh of defeat. He must be made of stern stuff if he still wants to know after my reaction. 'You're an Anti-Christ.' He still looks confused, but then again: it isn't exactly Monster 101 material, I doubt Dean and Sam have heard of it in their over twenty years. 'Half-human,' He punches the air, looking as if a huge weight has been lifted off of his shoulders, but I'm not finished, 'And half-Greater-Demon.' Instantaneously all traces of celebration slide from his face and it clouds with fear and self-disgust. 'Tom, Tom, it isn't _that_ bad: you're still half human! You're still _you_!'

'I'm fucking half-Greater-Demon and that's _not that bad?!_' He yells, 'What the hell _is_ bad, then Joe? The fucking Apocalypse?!'

Internally I winces, my mind throwing images and sensations at me, bludgeoning my thoughts, I hear screaming and dying. I feel my hand on Michael and Lucifer's shoulders and shoving them in. The effort of which killed me. But then I came back.

'Tom, I am going to get you out of here and back to our… - I don't know – dimension and _then_ we can talk about all of this crap, okay?' It sounds like a shitty persuasion technique, even to me, but he doesn't care enough about what I think for me to convince him of anything. Realistically, Alice or even Dean will have a chance of convincing him that is far beyond me.

Sniffing sulkily, Tom glances around at the trees and bushes again and relents, 'Fine. But we are having serious conversations about this shit when we get back.'

It's then, when we have both forgotten the dangers of Purgatory and its sycophantically inclined inhabitants, and are holding our weapons loosely by our sides, that six vampires lunge from the highest boughs of the surrounding trees and onto us. Three tackle me and three tackle Tom, pinning him to the ground whilst my assailants crowd around me, blocking him from view. Vampire venom won't turn me but combatting it is incredibly painful and costly to my system so I can't really afford to get any blood into me anyway. I am sick of being attacked as if I'm some lowly human; it's time to let my heritage flow through and kick the crap out of these idiots.

A stream of pure, untainted power explodes from my chest, branching off into three separate jets, each on striking a vampire full in the face. Striking isn't really the correct word for it, though, the magic just burns straight through their skulls, leaving smoking stumps behind. I am on my feet and bounding toward Tom when he shows me that he's really taken this demon thing to heart.

All three of his vampires are catapulted away from his body and Tom sits up, grinning evilly, but that isn't what frightens me the most right now. His eyes are pure black; no hint of the green-speckled slate irises that I've become accustomed to seeing in Purgatory's fading light. My voice chokes out in the suddenly still air, 'Tom, stop. Please.'

And the darkness that cloaks his eyes fades until he is once again the Tom that I have known for nine years. I manage to slow my breathing and run over to him, helping him stagger unsteadily to his feet. Surprisingly he hasn't actually passed out from expending so much energy on his first spell and is relatively unaffected; just another sign that he's different from me, more powerful than I am. Wordlessly we move on, neither of us in the mood to talk about what he just did and the demonic darkness that glowed from his eyes, how he almost didn't come back. I try to forget but the words keep running in a loop in my head:

'Purgatory brings out the darkness in us all.'

It feels like it's been a week, but I have no idea seeing as the light never changes here, it's always dusk. Tom seems to be fine but I am exhausted and it's all I can do to keep trudging onwards, hoping that the next rise will be the last and we will have arrived. My vision has narrowed to a thin strip of the ground in front of my feet so when Tom stops, I can't see him and I pitch into his back, knocking him forward a few steps before I've registered what's going on.

I really am a mess. As time has gone on in here, my angel magic has ebbed until I can barely sense it, each time I reach for a spell having to reach deep within myself, scraping up what pitiful amount of power I can. Purgatory is slowly killing me; if I don't get out of here soon then I am completely screwed.

Glancing around the clearing, I see that it is the place I described to Tom days ago, when I still had the energy to talk but there is no Portal. Supposedly it appears when humans are near but obviously there is a problem, one that I may have foreseen.

'We can't leave…' My voice is cracked with disuse and I throw my weary body on the floor, subconsciously keeping an eye out for any more predators that might have sensed us.

'Oh for the love of- Joe! We can't lose hope now!' Tom sighs with enough exasperation to drown a hippopotamus. 'We're so close.' All we have to do is wait for the Portal to appear.'

'Don't you get it?' I snap, 'The Portal isn't going to appear, we don't have enough human!'

'Well that's fucking great.' Tom throws himself on the dirt in disgust, but my last sentence has given me an idea, a glimmer of hope that has glinted off of an idea so obvious and simple that I am dumbstruck as to how I didn't see it before. It might be insane and impossibly suicidally stupid but it's our only shot and at least one of us will survive. I have every intention of ensuring it is Tom who does so.

'But…' I say, watching the hope appear in Tom's features, 'We _do_ have enough human between the two of us!'

'What, the fuck, are you on about?'

'If you take my angelic half into your body and I take your demonic half into mine then they'll be completely cloaked by our human sides!'

'Can that work?' Tom is cautious, 'How can we survive with only half a soul?'

'We can't.' I state simply, 'Once our angelic/demonic halves are hidden we'll have to combine our two half-souls into one. So, we'll end up with one human, with half an angel and half a Greater Demon hitchhiking along for the ride.' I try not to let even a tinge of doubt creep into my voice; I can't let him refuse our only option of freedom because I might not survive.

'Cool!' Tom is ecstatic, 'Let's do it!'

It takes what I assume is about an hour to explain all of the incantations and cantrips needed for this as well as tattooing the Marks on our arms. During this time we are attacked twice which worries me: once the spell has started breaking it would be disastrous. Thankfully I have another last-minute idea.

'Take my hand,' I say to Tom, not wanting to waste time with any more explanations, something dark and powerful is moving closer and closer, something I don't want to face in my current state. Tom reluctantly does so, 'Now bring forth as much power as you can and force it into me; I'll do the rest.'

Tom closes his eyes, muttering profanities under his breath and slowly I feel warmth build in his palm. Jumping across the barrier of skin, Tom's power enters my bloodstream, drawing a gasp from my lips. It's raw, incorrigible magic and the demonic inclination of it physically hurts me as I attempt to wield it but I grit my teeth against the pain and force my mind back to the task at hand. There's a resistance that I've never encountered before but I throw myself through it, feeling it snap inward like a rubber band as I plunge past…

…and the spell is complete.

A circle of crackling energy traces its way around us, about ten metres in diameter, a barrier against anything that might try to harm us. Unlike other Circles of Protection that I've Cast in my time, at each cardinal point, the white stones of solid seraphic light, give off wisps of black smoke. This is the only sign of demonic aid though and as I mentally probe the circle, it seems much stronger than any that I have Cast before as well.

'It's a form of protection,' I gabble out as Tom opens his mouth, adding, 'Don't touch it!' As his hand strays a little too close for comfort.

'Should we start?' Tom asks. I glance around, checking and double-checking that everything is as it should be before I nod. 'Okay, then,' He closes eyes again, _'Vita Seraficcine Veni!' _And he continues chanting in both Latin and Enochian until a tear, completely separate to my wishes, rolls down my cheek and drops onto my outstretched palm. Glowing with a subtle opalescent sheen, it pulses to the rhythm of my heart. This is my Grace: weird, half-formed compared to that of other angels but still beautiful in its fragility.

Tom slices a cut along his arm and holds it out, waiting for me to give it to him. Forcing myself to do so is difficult but I manage it, pressing the tears to the wound and watching, transfixed by the insanity of it all, as it slides into Tom's veins. Shuddering, he grits his teeth in intense pain: I guess angel magic hurts him just as much as demon magic hurts me. And then it's over, and Tom stands straight again, all indicators of discomfort gone from his face.

The instant my angelic side has disappeared from me, I have to fight bitterly to remain corporeal and try to anchor my spirit into the earth beneath my feet. Every breeze threatens to blow away what remains of me, shredding my form, scattering my ghostly body to the winds, but I refuse to fade; this fragile human essence is the _ one_ thing we need to get back and I'm sure as hell not going to be the one that fucks up.

_'__Vita Satannicas Veni!'_ I begin and continue with my chant, substituting in words; "angel" becoming "demon" and so on. When I finish I look back at Tom who is emitting a stream of roiling black smoke from his mouth that protectively curls around his body. Following suit, I slice a diagonal line of blood down my forearm and wait for Tom to do his stuff. Cutting myself weakens me even more, smoke is gathering at the edge of my vision, creeping toward the centre. But, I realise with a laugh, that isn't me blacking out, it's just Tom's demonic side, flowing through my cut and into my arm.

And then I am in much too much pain to even think about laughing or smiling. It's all I can do to clutch the crumbling dirt beneath my fingernails, trying to hold on to something, anything that will keep me where I am. Either I am much weaker than Tom in the human way, or he is much stronger than me supernaturally but the Greater Demon in me feels like I have been injected with liquid fire. Eventually the pain subsides to a point where I can ignore it and focus on my surroundings. Tom is flickering in and out of sight alarmingly, so I hurry over and we clasp each other's forearms.

'Join.' We whisper simply and our voices merge into one, our awarenesses blurring until I do what I must, what I did not tell Tom I was going to do. I let his awareness take control of the body and slip away into the darkness…

* * *

_I am chained in a room, to a slab with a man leaning over me, threatening to do hell knows what._

This has happened before.

_He pauses and I see that he is holding a sharp needle of silver, poised just above my right eye._

No… not again.

_'__Tell me where the Winchesters and that girl are.' He orders._

_All I can do is spit a gob of blood and mucus into his sneering face and shut my eyes, waiting for the inevitable pain. It comes. And I…_

_ …__scream._

* * *

_They bring in Tom…_

I tried to save him last time

_...bound in chains similar to mine…_

Now I know why: he is an Anti-Christ

_…__and hold a knife to his throat, making the barest cut, watching me yell and strain against my bonds with what little strength I have left._

_ '__Tell us where they are or he dies…' she…_

Asmodeus, I recognise her now: Katherine's body

._...enjoys the pain in my eyes, '…slowly.'_

_As I hesitate, with brutal swiftness, one of them…_

Clarice that traitorous bitch.

_…__breaks the little finger in Tom's hand, listening dreamily to the sound of his agonised screaming. After a second it becomes too much to bear…_

But remember, you cannot tell her.

_…'__No.' I state flatly, seeing the look of betrayal in Tom's eyes, which hurts more than any needles driven into my own._

_ '__Very well…' Asmodeus grins, 'Enjoy his screaming.'_

_And then the torture begins._

* * *

_My vision goes black and words are cast across the darkness:_

This will kill them all. Stop this by doing what you were too cowardly to do just now. Change your fate. Save them _all_.

_As I read the words, a voice repeats them to me until I am confused, dizzy and ill-feeling again, and my "consciousness" slowly fades…_

* * *

_**AHHH! Horrible cliffhanger I know, especially seeing as I won't be able to update for roughly another three weeks... SORRY! But that will give me time to physically (like with a pen and a book) write some more that you won't have seen yet which is good.**_

_**Please review and comment and like and favourite and follow and stuff.**_

_**Bye! :)**_


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N_

**_Hello! I'm back from my various things that meant I had no internet! Sorry for the long wait, I'll be updating more steadily now that school's starting again but I'll try and do it as quickly as possible. Thanks for the comments and reviews it was really nice. Also - Did you know that the story (this month) has been most popularly viewed in France? Weird._**

**_Looking forward to getting to getting to Chapter 11 - torture scenes of course._**

**_Enjoy!_**

* * *

Tom Demrams

I feel myself slipping out of the merged body that Joe and I have created between the two of us between the two of us before suddenly I snap back into it, the resistance I encountered dissipating into nothingness. I don't know what I expected but it definitely wasn't this. I am completely alone in my body; the presence of anyone else is wholly absent. Where the fuck has he gone? Shouldn't there be some sort of voice in the back of my head, telling me where to go to find the Portal? But, I think with a burst of irritation, I already know where the Portal will be so I can do this on my own, and kick Joe's ass when I get back.

Cautiously, I look around the glade for the Portal, waiting for it to appear to my fully human form. Gradually a spinning circle of storm clouds gathers at the top of a pile of rubble, precariously stacked as if made in a hurry. I hurl myself across the glowing barrier, feeling rather than seeing the light flare up before cutting off completely, I make for the stones. Suddenly something yanks me off of my feet and I am thrown against one of the _many_ tree trunks. I am fucking _sick_ of trees.

A vampire leans over me, baring its retractable fangs ferally but I ignore this and try to draw the power from within me as I did before and kick this vamp into the next… country? Forest? Oh who cares?

Nothing happens and I panic for a moment before I remember what I just did: I'm completely human now. And evidently a stupid one. I blame that on Joe's half. Whipping out my machete, I kick the vamp in the stomach and away from me, waiting until it's at its most off-balance before hacking off its head.

Something screeches in fury behind me and I see a slim, drop-dead gorgeous girl with dark wavy hair, standing in a crowd of monsters. Currently her features are screwed up in rage and screams, 'Stop that boy, right now!' Her very words are spitting with what I have come to recognise as Angel magic, which is extremely out of place here. At her words the gaggle of creatures turns and sprints in my direction, bounding through trees and yelling a very odd war cry as they come.

'Veronica!'

Scrambling desperately up the hill, I have one foot in the Portal in seconds but already a vampire is closing in and as I heave my other leg inside, she rips a thick, deep, long gash in my back with her fingernails. I scream, a haze of red covering my vision as I swing wildly at the vamp and fall blindly backwards into the Portal.

* * *

Violently tilting and spinning, the room slowly comes into focus and steadies, so that I can see the small huddle of people that are gathered around me.

'Joe?' Sam asks, looking slightly confused.

'No, it's Tom!' Dean looks at Sam as if he's gone insane, but I think I understand what's gone on and why no-one knows who I am.

Speaking of that, Alice moves over, her eyes squinting as she tries to figure out who I am, 'Tom? Joe? I- I think it's both of them.'

'You're right.' I say, hearing an unfamiliar voice that is neither mine nor Joe's escape from my lips, 'To get out of Purgatory we had to join our human counterparts: this body is completely human.'

'Which one of you bastards is… running the show?' Dean asks, leaning forward with curiosity, 'Are both of you in there?'

'No, it's just me.' I say, before realising that none of them know who I am. 'I mean, it's Tom. I don't know where Joe is… I can't find him in here.' I reach up to tap my forehead.

'What?!' Sam is livid but I'm in a hurry and already weak from blood loss so can't really dwell on his feelings right now.

'I have to do something!' I snap, cutting off his next words, 'If it doesn't work, _then_ you can yell at me!' Thankfully, Sam is silenced and I walk over to a body, cold and lifeless, one that I recognise in this dank cave, staring at it, feeling its lifeless stare bore into me, arcing crackles of pins-and-needles down my spine. It is my body.

Biting down on a sudden rising nausea, I cut a thin gash in my arm and whisper a few words over the blood. A thick, cloying cloud of black smoke churns from my wound and into the body that lies at my feet. Slowly it begins to twitch but I quickly press on, knowing that the body is still not me; it is fully Greater Demon which is _not_ something I want conscious around my friends… and Sam. I speak the next cantrip as fast as I can and my eyelids slowly droop as the phosphorous white glow of my soul builds and streams across the gap between our bodies. As the last of the light leaves my chest, I slump to the ground and fall into the darkness.

* * *

Jerking to a sudden awakening, I see the body that was, until a minute ago, mine, stretching and changing before my eyes. Stark light shines from each individual pore of the body, bubbling white liquid dribbles from the mouth and eyes, seething into the pools of blood and water below. An instantaneous explosion of light blinds me and when the dark spots have faded, I see Joe, his face blank and peaceful floating about three feet above the ground, his head scraping against the ceiling of the cave.

He crumples into the ground, or would have if Sam hadn't leapt forward and caught his limp body. Choking and sitting up as best he can, Joe weakly addresses Sam, 'We _have_ to stop meeting like this!' Before promptly fainting.

* * *

It takes another week for Joe and I to fully recover but the week we spent in Purgatory passed within twenty minutes on earth, as Joe had cast a charm that took advantage of the time difference between the two dimensions, slowing earth's time-stream even as it accelerated Purgatory's.

On the morning of the eighth day. I feel completely better, gladly accepting my breakfast in bed from Alice. I have been pleased to note that there have been no noises coming from Alice's room in the past week which means either they've stopped or gotten quieter, either situation being better than the previous one. Sadly I can't say the same of Joe's room and have sometimes woken up to hear noises that have created disturbing images in my head that I never wanted to see.

Fluidly, I rise, thrilled that my coordination has completely recovered too and go about getting dressed. I am the last one to arrive to the lounge this morning, everyone else already kitted up in their Hunting gear, fitting various knives and guns in concealed holsters about their bodies. Dean is wearing what appears to be his signature leather jacket with jeans, Alice, black leggings and a plain green T-shirt paired with denim shorts. Sam wears another checked shirt with his jeans, whilst Joe appears to be clothed in _another_ of Sam's checked shirts with jeans as well. It's creepy. Like they're one entity. I notice that they are both wearing the same clothes that they went to "hike" in last night. Oddly enough he's slipped on a pair of Converse that are covered in black squiggles in Sharpie. They would've been absolutely fine, I would've not have cared, except they have a pair of the most blindingly luminous yellow laces that I have ever seen. It physically hurts my eyes to look at Joe's feet.

It takes us just under two hours to reach the scene of the latest demon outbreak in Dean's Impala, Alice in the back, uncomfortably squished against Joe and Sam who are, as they practically always have been since Joe got back form Purgatory, making out. Dean and I each take a turn to shoot Alice sympathetic looks as we climb from the car and walk to the disused warehouse. She stares daggers back.

'So, what are we looking at?' Dean asks.

'A few deaths around the town,' Joe replies, 'Seven in all, which is almost unheard of in a town of this size in a year, let alone a week.'

We reach a massive, rusting iron loading bay shutter which I try to raise, without much hope of success. As suspected it doesn't budge. I glance questioningly toward Joe, wondering why he hasn't magicked (real word?) the obstacle away, but he simply shakes his head and points to the skeletal remains of a fire escape that leads into the upper floor of the building.

Rolling our eyes at the extra effort required to get up there we climb the crumbling steps, picking our way around the more unstable ones as we go. It's a lot more simple for Joe who simply materialises at the top of the steps and beams down at us. I'm pretty sure that I can teleport too but now isn't really the time to try it for the first time.

By the time we arrive at the door, Joe has already pressed his hand against the lock, only a soft golden glow and the quiet clicking of tumblers notifying us that the door is being unlocked. It doesn't open to Joe's light push so instead he draws back his foot and lashes out with a kick, sending flakes of red-brown rust scattering through the air. Stale air rushes out to meet us, fanning dust and grit into my watering eyes.

Strobes of soft light pierce the wrecked ceiling, striking the floor at random intervals, but doing little to light the space. Metal struts span the vast bay, casting lines of deeper darkness below, criss-crossing as they go, connecting and overlapping at various intersections high in the air amidst the lazily drifting motes of dust. Joe and Dean quickly follow me inside, already having drawn their guns are pointing them at the semi-darkness below us. Harshly escaping from between Joe's lips, his gasp alerts me to something gone wrong and I turn to him in time to see his eyes widen in evident horror, his mouth begin to form a warning…

…and the door that we have just opened slams shut again, decreasing the lighting even further. Sam and Alice pound on the door, but to no avail; only succeeding in drawing attention to the small cluster of us on the catwalk. Emerging from the shadows, the thin, wraith-like figure of Asmodeus grins cheerfully at the three of us.

'So!' She cants triumphantly, '_What_ do we have here? The two cross-breeds and an insignificant mote of dust? I'm terrified.'

'Well, Lieutenant,' Joe begins.

'It's Left-tenant.' Asmodeus cuts him off. Her composure slipping for a second, allowing us to get a glimpse of the eternal, inhuman rage and emptiness that consumes her, lying behind the "innocent" façade. 'But go on.' She pulls up her sickly sweet wall with difficulty.

'If you know that Tom is an anti-Christ then you'd be a little more afraid of him right now.' Joe continues. I do my best to look menacing but give up when I see Dean shaking his head at me. 'Half Greater Demon! Stronger than you… he could take on Raphael single-handedly!'

'Oh Joseph…' Asmodeus' laugh tinkles toward us.

'It's Joe.' Joe growls through gritted teeth.

'I believe that around sixteen demons as strong as me might be able to deal with your little friend.' Asmodeus gestures to the shadows behind her, picking out a few misshapen lumps. 'Abaddon. Lilith. Moloch.' And this is just the beginning…' She lets that threat trail off. I haven't heard any of these names before but I glance at Joe to try and gauge something from his reaction. Joe is pale; his fingers tightly gripping the catwalk's metal strut, tendons standing taut against his skin. Not good.

'We will still win.' Joe's voice is steady and I think I am the only one who is able to hear the slight tremor in it at the end.

Asmodeus still looks unimpressed, 'Very well, then. Let us begin.'

* * *

We've been fighting for around ten minutes when I see the Greater Demon ambushing Joe. The fight has been bloody and brutal, I have managed to kill four of them and Dean has dispatched another a while back but I can tell that these are simply another class of demons. I can feel the collective will of them trying to hold me back, tie me down and with every one I kill, the effect lessens, but it's still too much, I can feel them leeching away my strength.

Joe has (finally!) managed to get one down and is delivering the killing blow when one of the sneakier demons appears behind his back and attempts to perform a killing blow of his own. Well, I think to myself, there's nothing to lose now, is there? And on that cheerful note I try to Move for the first time.

'Suddenly I am in between Joe and the demon, ready to deflect the blow, when I hear a low yell from across the room, alerting me to Dean's predicament. He is pressed against the wall, blood oozing from his nose, bellowing in pain. The realisation is like a slap of icy water in the face. I can't save both of them.

My mind shows me memories of the two of them, Joe, younger, shorter, quieter, shyly handing me a birthday present. But it also shows me how distant he has grown, how much more rude and inconsiderate he was towards me once I knew his secret (both of his secrets). Now Dean, cocky, annoying, always showing me up, saving me in front of Alice just so she'd love him. But it shows me how friendly he grew, how kind and helpful, funny and entertaining he was towards me once we cut the bullshit. I make a split-second decision and materialise in front of Dean, throwing his attacker against the ceiling, and send a telekinetic blast of air toward Joe's even though I know it's too late.

The knife catches him in the small of the back and he falls with a scream, just as I collapse to my knees, too tired to get up again, having spent all of my energy on all of that magic. As my vision swims and blurs before me, Asmodeus' voice rings in my ears.

'Don't fucking cross me, arsehole.' And then I black out.

* * *

**_Well that was fun. I'll get back to typing now, but don't forget to comment and I hope you like my story. :) See you soon._**


End file.
